


Unexplained Phenomena

by kinomoto, phineas



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, Ghost Hunters, Ghosts, Korean!Keith, M/M, Paranormal, Vietnamese!Lance, just two gay asian boyfriends in the STEM field
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7692016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinomoto/pseuds/kinomoto, https://archiveofourown.org/users/phineas/pseuds/phineas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Opening a portal to the nether world? Weird, probably unsafe at best.</p>
<p>Being partnered with your rival in a tandem languages program? Awful, totally uncalled for, will most likely not end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_"There are some things in this world we may never understand..."_

* * *

NIGHT 0

“Okay, Lance. Don’t freak out. But, I opened a portal to the nether realm.”

This is a lot to take in at once. Lance darts his eyes to Hunk, a heavy-set 19 year old with nervous eyes, who supplies an unhelpful shrug. It’s 10PM on the first Tuesday of fall semester and Lance is in the apartment of two engineering majors, standing at the door. He’s staring at where Pidge, the world’s smallest diabolical genius, is squatted on the shaggy carpet.

“I--” He breathes in. Lance makes a flat gesture with one arm, then clasps his hands in front of his face. “...You know, Pidge, I know you like making me feel stupid and all, but this is just really pushing it.”

“No, no, no no no,” Hunk stands up and ushers Lance closer to where Pidge is, to where the contraption apparently is, and says earnestly, “Dude, I couldn’t believe it either, but this is real. Like, look at the EMF readings--”

“EMF? As in, ghost signals? As in fake science?”

“It’s not _fake_ , Lance.”

Pidge studies the small meter grasped in hand, turning slowly back and forth in place. “Yeah, it’s not fake and this portal is definitely real.” The light moves from green to light green, “And besides, you do a good job of making yourself feel stupid without my help.” With a grunt, Pidge stands abruptly. Hunk and Lance are nearly knocked back when the shortest of their trio blows past them towards the back wall.

“Anyway,” Lance stands akimbo in the middle of room, letting Pidge’s last comment roll off his back, “if this portal is real, which it probably isn’t, where is it exactly?”

Hunk and Pidge are both on the other side of the room now, in front of the closet. They look like a totem pole, Hunk hoisting Pidge on his shoulders as the latter stretches the reader high towards the ceiling. “Okay. Now move towards the door.”

“Guys--”

“Lance.” Hunk turns the totem pole around to face him, concern wrinkling his brow. “I know you won’t believe us, but Pidge and I just got back from this weird supernatural experience--”

“Experiment--” Pidge reaches down and taps his shoulder impatiently, pointing to the next location.

“Yeah, anyway, we were in the woods near the campus and Pidge pressed a button and all of a sudden the entire forest got quiet. Not even the crickets were chirping. Sort of like Hudson’s lectures when he decides to make a joke about integrals--”

“Those are actually funny though.”

“Oh yeah, definitely,” Hunk chuckles and sighs, moving towards the beds, “Maybe not the integrals, more like the Riemann Sums. Those ones are kind of dry--”

“Hunk,” Lance is two seconds away from grabbing his backpack and booking it out of there, “You were saying?”

“Yeah, as I was saying, something totally bizarre happened and we kinda freaked out and ran back, so now we’re checking for abnormal electromagnetic frequencies...just in case.”

“Just in case…?” Lance trails off, eyebrows raised and waiting for either of them to continue.

“Just in case there’s a ghost with us.” Pidge deadpans, hopping off and holding up the reader. It’s on yellow, three out of five levels. “Maybe there’s one with us right now--”

“Oh my god. You can’t be serious.”

“The EMF reader says all. I spent sixty dollars on this I’m sure we can trust it. We just have to go back to where I set up the experiment and read the levels there.”

“I’m not going off campus at 10 at night.”

“Lance. This is crucial, to like, the fate of the world.” Hunk is dead serious. Lance, with his year of a physics major under his belt, can honestly not believe it. He throws his arms up, prepared to shout something like, “My face looking good in the morning is crucial to the fate of the world!” but the EMF reader goes off once his hand hovers nearby it.

“Holy shit,” Pidge says.

“What.”

Hunk suddenly takes a step back from Lance, two hands up like he’s ready to surrender--the lights come on in Lance’s head.

“No.”

“It’s on you, Lance! What are you feeling? Violent? Angry? _Evil?_ ”

Lance snarls, his nostrils flaring as he hisses: “Oh, I’m definitely feeling the first two, but it’s not because I’m-- I don’t know, fucking _possessed_ or something!” 

“Sounds like something a possessed person would say.”

“Oh my god,” Lance says, feeling like he might breathe his last breath if he stays any longer. “I’m going back home.”

Pidge and Hunk just look at each other, unsure of how to read Lance-- apparently taking the blinking red light on the Ghost-O-Matic 3000 with more seriousness than Lance himself. Figures.

“Alright, well, I’m _going!_ ” He makes a show of going for the door when Pidge rushes up to stop him so fast if you’d taken a picture you’d have only seen a smear that resembles a white kid. The EMF reader goes off again, wailing like a siren and immediately Hunk makes a wild dash for the counter and unscrews the cap off their salt shaker before dumping it down Lance’s shirt.

It is, once again, a lot to take in at once. The reader goes quiet. Both Hunk and Pidge sigh, Pidge going lax against the door.

“Ooooh my God! My _shirt!_ My pants! My everything!” Lance is batting out of shirt like it were unsoftened laundry and feeling nine different kinds of betrayed. “Hunk! Buddy! Pal! _Why_ in the name of all that is--”

He wants to spend more time yelling, trying to get his point across that this ghost hunting thing had gone too far when there was salt in the fly of his jeans, but Hunk gives him a hug and a kiss on the head, acting genuinely relieved. Lance decides he needs to let himself be the complacent victim and gathers his things when Hunk lets go. His walk back to the dorm is quiet, even with the distant pulsating sounds of welcome week parties.

Waiting for the elevator up, he feels eyes on the back of his neck fleetingly. Nobody is manning the information desk at this hour, but he’s too focused on the idea of showering to linger on it when the metal doors slide open. His twin mattress has never felt more welcoming.

DAY 1

“So, Mister Keith ‘likes to take walks in the’ Park wants to learn Vietnamese, huh.”

Keith makes a face at that. Is that supposed to be an insult? “Uh, yeah. I signed up for the second level this year, but--”

“Ah, ah, ah I don’t wanna hear it.” They’re in chairs facing each other in the center of the student union. Lance is slouched all the way into his posed with the tips of his fingers resting on each other in a bridge. It takes every fiber, every cell of his being to not roll his eyes or just storm off. Instead Keith exhales, leaning on the armrest away from the smug guy sitting beside him. 

“Look, can you, I don't know, not be an asshole for two seconds?” He shifts in his seat, reaching beside him to dig a crumpled paper out from his backpack.

It almost physically hurts him to say that he needs help from _him_ of all people. Instead, his grip tightens, crinkling the sheet in his hand. He huffs through his nose when Lance, tongue stuck out, says that he apparently _cannot_ stop being an asshole, that something about Keith just ‘brings it out of him’.

“I,” breathe, Keith, breathe, “Okay, so we’re both studying languages. You’re good at Vietnamese. I’m good at Korean. We were paired in the program to...help each other.” He holds up the paper, a clipart of a smiling Earth with limbs waving in the corner. The speech bubble next to it reads _Your partner is Lance Lê!_

“Oh, the K Man wants my help?” Lance has the biggest shit eating grin and the last of his patience snaps.

“Actually, no. I don’t need your help. I’m just saying what’s written on the paper.” He shoves it back into his backpack and cups his face in his hand. With a huff, Keith opens his mouth but Lance beats him to it.

“I’m glad we’re in perfect agreement for once. I don’t need your help either.” After stretching his arms above his head, he grabs onto the armrests and hoists himself up. “I guess I’m just gonna go and ask to be re-paired since we both don’t want to be here.” Slinging his bag over one shoulder, Lance peace signs and stands. Keith sits with his mouth agape and feeling of his own words drop into the pit of his stomach.

“See you around. No, scratch that. I don’t want to see your dumb mullet so don’t see you around.”

“Wait!” Before he can walk off, Keith grabs his wrist. 

“What?”

“I…” His mouth clamps shut.

Lance shakes his hand free of Keith’s, slipping them into the pockets of his bomber jacket. His eyes are expectant, one brow arched. They both know what scarce budget the Asian Languages department has is split between Chinese, Japanese, and Korean. Vietnamese is twice a week, online. Korean is five days a week, in person.

“Hey, Keith. Dont’cha know it’s rude to keep a lady waitin’?” 

“I get it. I know. There’s a lot more Koreans in the program, so I…” Brows furrowed, cheeks flushed, he mumbles something under his breath.

Lance smiles wickedly. Hands on hips, he leans down to meet Keith eye to eye. “Sorry, didn't hear you the first time. Loser says what?”

He is fucking infuriating, that lopsided grin, the self-satisfied expression plastered all over his face. Keith would punch him if they weren't in the middle of the student union. 

Instead he glares, leaning forward until their foreheads almost touch. Fists clenched and slightly embarrassed, Keith grits his teeth, “I...Need...You…”

Lance leans back from Keith. His smirk is so tight, mirth gleaming in his eyes, and Keith knows what’s coming before Lance even opens his mouth. In the middle of the student union, where students are sleeping curled up in chairs, working on assignments, reviewing their syllabi, Lance Lê shouts at the top of his lungs, “DID EVERYONE HEAR THAT? KEITH PARK NEEDS MY HELP!”

He howls like he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. He probably has. Everyone is staring at them and Keith has to scramble to stand up and clamp his hand over Lance’s big mouth. Up close again, Keith watches Lance’s little brown nose scrunch up. He allows his hand to be swatted away as Lance closes the gap between them to butt their foreheads together.

“You’re lucky you’re wearing those stupid emo gloves, otherwise I would’ve licked your hand.”

“You’re disgusting and they’re _not emo_ ,” Keith responds without a beat, his voice low and resentful.

“Whatever makes you feel better, Joe Jonas.”

“That’s not my name--”

Suddenly Lance scoffs and blows a huff of air into Keith’s face. Keith jerks back, the smell of peppermint buzzing in his nostrils. He growls at the realization that he’s lost their unspoken contest.

“So,” Lance says. “I guess this means I need your number.”

“You’re right, for once.”

“I resent that. And I resent you.”

Lance’s phone is hot in his hand, snapchat, facebook, tinder, and three different games running in the background as he types in his number. There’s also a huge crack running diagonally on the screen. He sends himself a text and hands it back to Lance, who has been watching him with an unusual amount of care, foot tapping.

Lance looks at his phone, then to Keith’s face. His expression is unreadable-- then again, when it comes to people, Keith is basically illiterate.

“Well, I guess we can, uh… Talk later.” Keith awkwardly reaches for his bag, unsure of how he’s supposed to interact with Lance when they aren’t arguing. In hindsight it’s for the best that Lance is always an asshole to him. At least it’s consistent.

“예, 선생님.”

Keith flinches in the middle of adjusting the straps of his backpack around his shoulders. When he looks up, Lance’s grin is fading.

“I said that right, didn’t I?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“Cool.” Lance makes a show of wiping pretend sweat from his brow, the short brown hairs fluttering. “I’m pumped to start-- I’m a super quick learner, so get ready to be blown away by what’s up here.” He points at his temple, body all bravado once again. Keith couldn’t roll his eyes harder if he tried.

“똥 강아지.”

Lance blinks. “What?”

“Nothing. I gotta go to class.”

“What-- you fucking said something, didn’t y-- Keith! Oh, okay, you’re just walking away! Real mature! Well, I have stuff to do too! Thằng mất dạy! Look! I’m walking the other way!”

Lance is on his phone he whole way out and to class, switching between flappy bird and sending rapid fire texts to Hunk and Pidge. They’re both asking him if odd things have happened to him today; he honestly isn’t sure if getting paired with Keith Park as a tandem language partner counts as the kind of ‘odd’ they’re looking for. The sun is shining, but summer is breathing its last breaths: across the campus there are leaves turning orange and girls in infinity scarves.

* * *

“Are you free tonight?” Pidge has a yellow highlighter balanced between upper lip and nose. _Linear Algebra and Its Applications_ by Pearson Publishing is being scrutinized through Pidge’s heavy glasses prescription when the highlighter slips out and lands across fold of the pages, rolling forward slightly. “Preferably between 9pm to 6am.”

“Uh, yeah most likely. Why?” Lance looks up from his laptop. The three of them are at the the library for a group homework time. Books, papers, and binders cover every inch of the table. The laminated sign taped in the very center that reads _No Food Allowed_ is conveniently covered by an illegal chip bag, courtesy of Lance.

“Well, according to a quick Google search, those are the prime hours for ghost hunting. The psychic hours.”

“ _Guys--_ ”

“Sh!” Hunk brings a finger to his lips, glancing around frantically. “We’re at the library.” 

Pidge shrugs and leans across the table, peeking over the screen of Lance’s laptop. “So, are you free or not?”

“For ghost hunting? I’m not, nope. Just remembered. Not free from 9 to 6. Nope, not at all.” Ah shit, what is he supposed to say? He definitely doesn’t have anything going on. “I’m...meeting someone.”

“You’re meeting someone at 9pm?” Pidge raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying his flimsy excuse. “Who?”

“Well,” His eyes shift to the ceiling, to the bookshelves behind Pidge, to the table. “It’s a date.”

“Who goes out at 9pm on a Wednesday night?”

“Cool people, that’s who.” His cellphone buzzes, the lock screen flashing on to show the conveniently timed text. Whoever’s up there must be really feeling generous today. Lance opens his phone with a happy hum, sending a quick “thanks dude” prayer up to the sky. The name of his savior causes his smile to curl into a grimace.

“Lemme see.” Before he can react, Pidge reaches over and plucks the phone from his hand. “Wow.” A look to Lance, then back to the screen, then show the phone to Hunk. “Lance has a hot date with Keith, apparently.”

“It’s more like a study...session. Not a date. Did I say date? I would never. Never ever in my entire life be associated, let alone go on a date with that 80s enthusiast.” 

If you could squeeze the essence of the meaning “bullshit” like a fruit, process it into its basic form, make it into a paint, then create an artistic masterpiece, that’s the expression that was on both Hunk’s and Pidge’s faces. 

Lance smiles sweetly, ignoring their stares as he extends his arm, palm facing up, “May I have my phone back, please?”

With a sidelong glance to Pidge, Hunk gently places it in his waiting hand.

“Thank you.”

To be completely and totally honest, if Lance had to choose between ghost hunting or Keith “Grumpy Pants” Park, he would rather live a year without his beauty products. Maybe not a year, maybe like a week? Anything besides ghosts or Keith, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

The table shifts back into silence as the three focus back on their studies. Lance unlocks the phone, and opens the message.

**Keith:** _When are you free?_

Of course. Lance snorts. Perfect punctuation and capitalization. 

**Lance:** _Let’s meet up tonight. 9 ok?_

A few minutes and his response buzzes in. 

**Keith:** _Why?_

A groan threatens to rise out of his throat, but Lance scowls instead, grunting at the screen. Hunk looks up from his book and Lance smiles back, his hand vice-like around the phone. Keith better not have anything tonight. Does he even have hobbies? Does listening to My Chemical Romance in a dark room count as a hobby? (Not confirmed, but highly probable.)

**Lance:** _What do u mean..… why_

**Keith:** _Why do you want to meet up tonight?_

**Lance:** _Ooooh myyyyyyy goddd keith. just say yes_

**Keith:** _Wow. Compelling argument._

Lance doesn’t know why, but for some reason he thought interacting with Keith over text would be less of a brick wall to climb. Of course not. He’s just about to say to hell with it when his phone buzzes again.

**Keith:** _Where do you want to meet?_

“Did he send you a picture of his dick?”

Lance jerks his head up from his phone. “What?”

“You looked super shocked just now,” Hunk chimes in. Pidge’s lips are curled into a tight smile.

“I--He didn’t send one! He just surprised me, that's all.” A pause. “ _Not_ with a dick pic.” Lance sighs, mildly irritated at their identical expressions, “I swear. And you know I would tell you guys, regardless of whether you wanted to know or not.”

“...If you say so.” The highlighter hovers above the text, cap off as Pidge stares long and hard at him. After a few seconds, the tip contacts the page, a soft drag across the surface. Eye contact between the two is never broken as the highlighter stains the page in yellow.

Lance texts back without looking at the screen.

**Lance:** _Mt form_

_Lance is typing…_

**Lance:** _****my dorm_  
_I live in ford hall so just like lmk when yr there and ill come down_

Pidge is snickering.

“Shut up and study your linear algebra, fucking nerd.” Lance blinks his eyes, still dry from the short lived staring contest. He sets his phone face down on the table, slouches back into the stiff chair, and starts flicking at the trackpad of his computer like he can take out his frustration on it.

“Oh, come on. We all know know the studying stopped once we hit the forty minute mark.”

“That’s not true,” Lance says, not even looking up from his twitter feed. His phone buzzes beside his arm.

Pidge makes an exasperated hand gesture at Lance. Hunk gives a noncommittal shrug in reply. Lance misses the whole interaction.

“Anyways. Since scaredy- _Lance_ over here apparently has better things to do,” Pidge begins, voice deliberately increasing in tall-dark-and-allegedly-handsome’s direction. Lance’s ears twitch, but he doesn’t say anything. Pidge is honestly a little disappointed that he didn’t take the bait. He must really hate ghosts-- or, have suddenly found a new love for Keith Park and his greasy, black hair.

The latter is unlikely.

Pidge continues after a long pause, turning to Hunk. “You figure out what kinda gear we should bring this time?”

Hunk looks up at the arched ceiling of the library, eraser of his mechanical pencil poking the soft curve of fat that hangs off his square jaw.

“EMF reader’s a must. That thing saved our lives last night.”

“True.”

“The camera batteries went dead last night, so maybe we should try and find some disposables. Y’know, for evidence.” Hunk winks an eye closed and makes shutter noises; something like ‘ka-chk, ka-chk’.

Pidge does a couple back, though it sounds more like ‘tchk tchk tchk.’ That’s about where Lance draws the line.

“Okay, first of all. It’s--” He holds out an invisible phone just up above his head and smiles at his own hand. “Chk-a chk-a chk-a. Obviously.” Lance’s hands drop as he makes a deadpan expression at his two friends. Clearly the trio is at an impasse on this issue. All three of them have now leaned back from each other, arms crossed.

“ _Secondly,_ it’s great that you guys are going to like, go and find the ghost portal or whatever. And by ‘great’ I mean that sounds like you guys will die. But like, what’s the plan? Are you guys gonna catch it? Kill it? I dunno, exorcise it or whatever?”

Pidge and Hunk look at each other, then back to Lance. Pidge’s shoulders shrug with arms still folded. Hunk looks a little apologetic and smiles at Lance before sheepishly admitting that there had, in fact, been no plan other than to go back and try to get something on tape to post online.

Apparently the forum Hunk frequents has been going nuts.

They are at last evicted by a student librarian because of how loudly Lance groans out, “ _Oh my God!_ You guys were going to just die and leave me here!”

(“Chill out, Lance. We’d come back to haunt you,” Hunk says on the walk back across campus.)

(“Yeah.” Pidge has brown eyes that gleam with a retaliatory glee. “Plus, I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts?”)

NIGHT 1

Nine is a late time to meet, Keith thinks as his feet push the pedals. The sun had set hours ago, but thankfully there are lights along this path. Crickets and frogs croak and chirp, faint echoes reaching him from across the lake. It’s a shame that he has to bike along the path right now. If Lance had set an earlier time, Keith would have been able to see the golds, reds, and oranges whizz by in a warm blur. With a contented hum, he leans forward on his handlebars, hair ruffled by the wind, increasing his cadence as the dorm grows closer.

Ford Hall. Clicking the lock shut and jiggling it make sure it’s secure, he holds his helmet under his arm, phone in the other. Wait, should he call or text Lance that he’s here? His thumb hovers between the envelope and the phone icon. Don’t you have to wait a certain number of days before you call someone after getting their number? Then again, Lance was the one who asked for it.

Shrugging to himself, he taps the phone icon and calls him. It rings once, twice, three times.

_Hello? Who is it?_

“Uh, it's Keith?” Didn't he save the number? He wouldn't put it above Lance to do something as petty as not saving his number.

_Oh, ha ha sorry. Didn’t look at caller ID before picking up. What's up, my dude?_

“I'm outside.” Keith frowns as he walks to the door. Lance is acting super familiar for a guy who was crowing about his Arch Nemesis needing his help earlier that day. “You told me to let you know when I got here...dude.”

The other side is silent.

He turns, looking up at the sky. “...Lance--”

Lance starts laughing, and Keith holds the phone away from his ear.

_I was just messin’ with ya. This is my voice mail. Leave a message after the beep! BEEEEEEEEEEEEE--_

The tone beeps and Keith almost throws his phone at the cement. If his grade didn't depend on this idiot, Keith would be staying far away--well as far as two science majors could be away from each other anyway. 

Deep breath, Keith, deep breath. He calls again, glaring up at the sky this time.

“Heyo, Keithinator.”

Lance is leaning against the door, arms crossed and expression cocky. It didn't match his sloppy uniform: boxers, a baggy t-shirt, and student ID hanging off a lanyard around his neck. 

It's not a bad look.

“That's not my--whatever,” he hangs up and raises his free arm, holding his phone and shaking it, “You didn't answer my call!”

“I didn't want to hear your emo voice before I saw your emo face.” Lance smirks and gestures for Keith to come into the building. “I'd rather have my night ruined in one go, yanno?”

No, he doesn't know. Keith scowls and walks in regardless. He pauses once he's inside, allowing Lance to close the door and lead the way. They head towards the elevator, other residents passing by and nearly stopping Lance in his tracks to talk.

Lance says he’s busy right now, points to Keith without introducing him and smiles with his canines gleaming white. It seems enough to get the two of them alone in front of the elevator. Keith observes wordlessly as Lance slides his ID and presses the button. 

He knows everyone in the building, it seems. Keith can’t say he’s surprised.

“You coming up or what?” Lance has his hand on the door.

“Uh, yeah.” Keith does a hop-step into the elevator. The metal doors slide shut, leaving the two of them alone, side-by-side as they start moving.

Being this close, he notices how tall Lance is. Not _that_ tall, maybe just a few inches. His eyes are closed as another yawn overtakes him, dark brown lashes fluttering. Then his hand reaches back and starts scratching his ass.

Keith bores his eyes dead forward at his warped reflection. In the elevator with the walking contradiction that is Lance Lê, a Korean boy asks himself this much: _Why am I here?_

A few other residents pass them on the way out of the elevator; they and Lance exchange pleasantries and one passes an eyebrow wiggle to Keith. There’s muffled laughter echoing in his head even when the elevator doors close shut again and the strangers are gone. Before Keith can register his skin crawling, Lance is half way down the hall, telling him to “hurry his ass up.” He continues at the same rate, in fact dawdling a bit on the way just to watch as Lance grows visibly irate-- leaning against the door frame, drumming his fingers on his hip, and brow into a flat and unimpressed line over his eyes.

“Oh, ha _ha._ You’re hilarious. A real jokester.”

“I know,” Keith says with a self-satisfied smile on his face as Lance glares sideways before entering the room without a word. The smell of cinnamon wafts past him and beckons him in as well. Lance’s room isn’t what he’s expecting. It’s clean, lit warmly with white christmas lights and Lance walking into looks warm, too, when he takes a seat on the half lofted bed and returns to eating a half eaten slice of pizza.

Keith takes a seat at the desk shoved perpendicular against the head of Lance’s bed and things get underway. Lance is in the middle of asking Keith what the difference between 데문에 and 는 and what _exactly_ ‘nominalization’ is, anyways, gesticulating with his lanky brown hands in the air when it happens. The lamp on the desk sparks and goes out.

Keith jumps, and stares at the light, which has just the tiniest bit of smoke coming from it. His stomach lurches.

“Whoa,” they both say at once.

“Yeesh! I nearly shat myself,” Lance says, hopping off the bed to unscrew the bulb and change it. Keith’s brow furrows, eyeing the string of lights hanging above Lance’s bed.

“That’s weird,” he says.

“What is?” Lance is reaching for the high shelf in his closet for bulbs.

“If it’d been a surge, the other lights should’ve gone off, too.”

“Dude, light bulbs die. It’s fine.”

The lamp falls over, clattering against Lance’s lime-green studio headphones. Blinking, Keith stands up. The hairs on his neck are standing, skin prickling with goosebumps.

“Lance, I think… something’s wrong.”

“What?” Lance, who Keith did not peg as the type to wear anything lime-green, comes up from behind him, holding the head of the flourescent between his thumb and index finger. His face turns into a pout when he sidesteps Keith. “Aw, what? Why’d you knock it over?”

“I _didn’t._ That’s what I’m saying.”

Lance rolls his eyes and reaches down to grab the neck of the bending light, his other hand at the ready to replace the bulb. The problem is that it, for some reason, is terribly heavy. Before Lance can even properly get a flabbergasted “What the fuck” out of his mouth, the string of lights above his bed pop off in a cacophony of sparks and the whole room is dark. 

For a hot moment after, there’s only the sound of Lance and Keith both breathing heavily. The smell of the candle warmer has been overpowered by the stench of burned plastic. Lance’s eyes, owlishly big, are just starting to come into focus for Keith when another loud noise jerks the both of them five steps back towards the door.

“It’s your _phone,_ you idiot!”

“I’m not an idiot--! I--You jumped away too! Just shut up, Keith!” 

Lance stumbles forward, frantically feeling around the surface of the desk before finding his phone. The light of the screen blinds Lance for a moment when he holds it up to his face. His cursing turns into a sigh of relief. It’s Hunk. His fingers fumble, sliding his finger across the screen as he steps back.

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” Lance holds the phone against his ear, “This is because of you guys, right? Why am I getting attacked for something you did?”

“Slow down, dude.” Hunk’s voice is calm, “What's happening?”

“I'm sitting in my room, just studying and the lamp just blows and then I go to change the lamp and my fucking christmas lights explode and now I'm stuck in the dark with-- _holy shit!”_

Keith bumps into Lance, causing the latter to screech and run into the wall.

“Is that what you're calling him now?” Pidge’s voice snickers in the background. It’s distant, muffled by the sound of wind.

“Can we please save that for later?” Lance feels around the approximate area of his bed. Fingers touch fabric and he yanks it. He turns it in his hands a couple times. Yup, it's pants.

“Okay, so what you just told me sounds like a classic haunting.” Hunk says slowly, “Just get out of there.”

“...You're kidding, right? Ha ha, guys. You got me, nice prank. Went all out this time, huh? I'm impressed.” He holds the phone on his right shoulder as he shimmies his left leg through a pant leg.

Keith hisses beside him. “What did they say?” Lance waves him away like a gnat and Keith just throws his hands up, exasperated.

“Lance, I'm serious.”

“Oh sure--” A sharp burning sensation runs along his forearms and Lance yelps. Touching his arm, he feels the raised lines of skin trailing upward.

Like scratch marks.

“Lance? You still there, buddy?”

“I-I gotta go, see you.” He hangs up, shoving the phone into Keith's hands as he pulls his pants up.

“Lance, what's going on?” Keith is following him around the room as Lance searches for his lanyard. “Lance--”

A thump. Lance curses, hissing in pain as he walks around the offending object. More shuffling. “Found it. Let's go.”

“Lance!”

They run out into the hallway. It's thankfully lit and devoid of people.

“Lance, stop running for just a second and tell me what's going on!”

“Let's take the stairs. I don't-- the elevator’s too slow.”

Keith, for the life of him, can barely keep up with Lance’s two-step pace down the winding emergency stairs. He can see that Lance is back on his phone again (he’d yanked it back out of Keith’s hand the instant they’d exited the room) and he’s typing furiously with both hands. He misses a step and nearly tumbles forward. Keith catches him by the crook of his elbow.

“ _Lance._ ” Keith’s voice comes out raspy. He’s got one hand on the railing with chipped paint, the other clenched around his one-sided rival’s arm. Lance’s shoulders shake in the thin fabric of his shirt, suddenly looking small in the cold fluorescent light. It’s still quiet. Keith keeps talking over the buzz of Lance’s phone on the linoleum steps. 

“Look, I don’t think I-- feel whatever it was in there anymore. It’s… It’s okay.”

“ _Whatever you were feeling in there?_ Keith, I don’t care if you’ve got indigestion.” You can hear the eyeroll in his voice. Lance wrenches his arm free, but Keith steps closer, dark eyes trailing on the red lines now winding up across tanned skin. After he’s picked up his phone with all its new cracks, Lance rubs the side of his forearm and hisses.

“That wasn’t there before,” Keith says.

Lance shoots him a look. The air is tight with tension, the sound of humming lights all around them and the bass of a song pounding from the wall just beside them.

Keith doesn’t react to the bit about irritable bowels, and _that_ makes _Lance_ irritable. His shoulders sag with a sigh. “God, can we just get out of here? Then you can go home and do whatever. And more importantly, I can go and do whatever.”

“Why do you want to get rid of me so bad? I’m trying to help,” Keith pins him with an angry look in his eye and steps closer. “I can tell you’re scared.”

“I’m _not_ scared.”

Keith looks Lance dead in the eye for a second. Then he jerks forward and lets out a low, growling sound that sounds somewhere between “boo” and a bark.

Lance jumps back like a cat, phone held tight to his chest. Keith looks like he’s just eaten a whole apple pie by himself; that’s how satisfied his smirk is. Thinking on it, proving Lance wrong is a lot like a warm slice of apple pie on a fall evening. The look on Lance’s face is the dollop of ice cream on top.

“That--” Lance stammers. The tips of his ears are fuming red and he grits his teeth and looks ready to tackle Keith. “That doesn’t prove anything! Just-- Jesus, fine, whatever, you can--” he does air quotes with his fingers. “-- _‘help’_ me. Just.” The sound of Lance’s inhale is ragged. “Don’t fucking jumpscare me again, you asshole.”


	2. Chapter 2

_“...if this is the portal to hell, then why don't you come up out of that ground and get us?”_  

* * *

 

####  **NIGHT 1 CONTINUED**

The wind whips past them as they bike down the trail. It’s beginning to get rougher as the path gives way from asphalt to dirt. The lights are almost gone, shrinking into the distance one by one as they head deeper into the forest.

“What was all that stuff you were saying about feeling?” Lance talks a little bit louder than normal, over the wind and the crunching sound of gravel under their bike tires. They’re headed even further off campus; apparently that’s where Lance’s friends like to hang out.

“I just feel energies.”

“You’re, like, five more levels of weird than I thought.”

Keith makes a face, orange light from Lance’s reflectors coloring the wrinkles on his nose. He can’t exactly deny anything, so he doesn’t respond and the rest of the ride goes in a hurried pace without further conversation. Lance looks to be putting all his fear-induced adrenaline to good use as they come to a sudden halt in front of an apartment building just on the edge of campus.

Keith remains half on his bike, propping it up with his leg as Lance locks his to a nearby rack.

“Lance?” Keith turns his head. Hunk Garrett, a boy he recognizes from classes he’s shared with Lance, is standing there in the yellow light of the doorway with one hand to his mouth. He’s a nail biter, apparently.

“Hey, hey,” Lance raises up both his hands and shakes them in a ‘ta-da’ motion. Hunk is holding the door open with his back to the glass as Lance lets himself in like it were his own home. “It’s me. In the flesh! Surprisingly.”

Keith manages an awkward, “uh, hey,” as he follows after. Hunk smiles at him, but for the half second he looks at Keith, he makes up for it with a wide eyed stare that trails Lance’s back.

“Don’t tell him I said this, but… I’m actually really excited.”

Keith blinks.

“Uh… Sure. Our secret.”

“Thanks, Keith--”

“Are you guys _coming_ or what?” There he is again, holding the door to the elevator, hand on his hip, and eyebrow raised. Evidently, Lance doesn’t like being in transient spaces for more than forty seconds. Hunk lets the door close and Keith feels the wind from the outside push him past the PO boxes and into the bowels of the building.

They enter the elevator and Lance pushes the button with a huff. Keith and Hunk exchange glances but say nothing. The doors close with a final _shhk._

The three of them stand together in an awkward line: Lance in front of the panel, Keith leaning against the opposite wall, and Hunk as the human barrier between them, close to Lance.

“Anything else happen on the way here?” Hunk lifts Lance's arms up and down from behind, checking the other boy over, “Any spooky scenarios? Like a rock hitting you out of nowhere? A shadow in the corner of your eye?” He suddenly slams his hands down onto his shoulders, eyes wide as he looks around the cramped space of the elevator while Lance yelps in surprise.

“Dude! What was that for--”

“What if it's _here_ ? What if it followed you here and now we're like, at it’s mercy because we can’t escape an elevator quickly. Dude, we're in the perfect _death trap_ \--”

“Hunk, _please_ don't say that while we're in the fucking--”

“Oh my _god_ , Lance! Why did we take the elevator we should have gone up the stairs. You were getting haunted and you chose the _elevator_ \--”

“I don't sense anything.” Keith finishes. The overlapping voices die down as they slowly turn to stare at the brooding boy leaning against the wall. The sudden attention causes him to cough uncomfortably. “I mean, there wasn't anything on the way here and it isn't here now.”

The doors open with a faint _ding_.

Lance leaves first, walking briskly ahead of them with a _hurry it up_.

“So you can sense ghosts?” Hunk looks at Keith with fascination. They keep at their leisurely pace down the hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith can see Lance’s eyes roll back.

“Oh, here it comes. _Energies._ ” Lance stops at an apartment labeled ‘316’ and walks in, so in a rush to get away from the two of them that he leaves the door ajar. Hunk and Keith linger in the hallway, the sound of Lance-- _Piiidge! Come out of your room, you shut-in! --_ muffled behind cherry varnished wood and cheap, gold painted numbers.

Hunk smiles at Keith.

Oh right. They were talking.

“Not exactly? I just feel it. Feel energies. I don't really know how to explain it.”

“Sounds pretty explained to me.” Hunk smiles and flashes a thumbs up, “Dude, I think that’s awesome. How long have you had this gift? Are you a psychic? An esper?” He pushes the door open and gestures to Keith to go inside.

“Uh, no to the psychic and I can't really pinpoint when I started feeling…sensing energies.” Keith mumbles a quick thanks and walks past the threshold into the apartment. Hunk follows, shutting the door behind him. Someone yells that they're in the living room and Hunk leads the way.

Lance is lounging on the couch, legs sprawled across the entire seat, talking to a familiar looking shock of brown hair--

“Matt?”

‘Matt’ turns around to show that it's not ‘Matt,’ but a shorter, more miffed doppelganger.

“We've literally had three classes together, Keith. Even so, I can't believe you confused me for my brother when your brother is his--”

“ _Pidge_ ,” Lance waves his arm from his spot, sitting up and scooting over to create room for Hunk, “You were saying that you had news. Hurry and let’s get this Scooby Doo thing over with.”

“Scooby Doo doesn't really fit,” Hunk drapes his arm around Lance's shoulders as he scratches his chin with his other hand, “Cause the monsters ended up being guys in costumes fighting over property disputes. It's more of a Ghostbusters vibe more than anything.”

“True, but we didn't see anything.” Lance ignores Keith standing near the armrest (now legrest, since that's where his legs are anyway), refusing to move his feet. Keith sighs in exasperation and crosses his arms. “Those ghosts have physical forms and we don't have a ghost vacuum.”

“Guys!” Pidge waves to catch their attention, “I have some important information in regards to our Ghost Adventures issue!”

The two on the couch groan in protest.

(Ghost Adventures is fake and what we have going on right now is _not_ fake.)

(Ghost Adventures is stupid why didn't you go with Danny Phantom I would have totally let that slide.)

“Anyway,” Pidge continues, “I have good news and bad news--”

“Good news.” Hunk blurts out, “Even though I already know it, I want Lance to feel better.”

“Aw, Hunk.”

Pidge sighs, “The portal was only open for a few hours. The rip between the fabric of our worlds was temporary; maybe something to do with planetary alignments, the rotation of the earth, who knows.”

Lance looks like he's going to implode.

“Whoa, whoa whoa whoa. Nope. Nonono.” He wags a finger at Pidge. “You do _not_ get to gloss over a _time space continuum rip.”_

Pidge looks at him.

“... So, the bad news, and this is my best stab at a hypothesis, is that we've now got an unusual influx of spiritual energy around campus.”

“For someone delivering ‘bad news’, you sure are smiling big,” Keith observes. Unruffled by the accusation, Pidge shrugs and moves to flatten out a map on the coffee table.

“So, I'm guessing what you and Lance had a run in with is a spirit. Maybe even a class B. You really should've had an EVP session. ”

Lance, reclined on the slope of Hunk’s flank, pinches his brow as Pidge circles red around Ford Hall on the map-- there's a handful of other markings from previous “paranormal investigations.”

“Ghosts. Of course. It's ghosts! Couldn't be zombies, or werewolves, or vampires--”

“Those are fake,” Keith, Hunk, and Pidge say at the same time.

“Shut up, Keith. You guys know this isn't physically possible right?”

Keith does _not_ shut up. Instead, he says, with his lip stuck out: “You're the one that got scratches. So, it's pretty physical, and possible, actually.”

Lance’s mouth flings open, ready to spit something back. Hunk reaches over and puts a hand on his head and Lance folds up his arms tight as a pretzel. With a thick and inhale through his nostrils, the brunet starts again.

“So, what are you guys going to do. If you’re the ghost busters and I’m the one being _ghost_ -ed, then I came to get serviced. Make it snappy, please. I need my bed to be inhabitable by tomorrow.”

“We're going to bust them, obviously.” Hunk is smirking, broad and confident. “And Keith, here, can help.”

“I what?”

“Yeah, he _what?_ Keith doesn't need to be involved! At all! In fact, why are you here--”

“ _You_ said--”

“Guys,  c’mon!” The excitement in Hunk’s voice vibrates through Lance's back. “It's totally _cosmic_ that you guys were together.”

Lance pulls out from under Hunk’s arm. Both he and Keith have bristled at the depiction of their relationship as galactically predefined. Lance has been a staunch skeptic of fate since his mom had faked throwing out her back for laughs and Lance, tiny, six year old lance, cried his eyes out right there on the sidewalk. He is, notably, not superstitious.

“What else would you call it when your room gets haunted while you're with a _medium?”_

But it's pretty undeniable that God has a grudge against him that's finally coming to a boil.

“Stupid,” Lance answers.

“Lucky,” Keith says at the same time in a way that makes a vein bulge in Lance's neck.

“How do I know this isn't  your fault! You're the one who can see dead people! They're probably sick of you invading their privacy!”

“Lance,” Pidge cuts in, shuffling for something under the coffee table. “Put your arms down. Keith, you're definitely coming with us. We could use your help.”

Smirks and glares are exchanged and Keith goes to kneel at the coffee table with Pidge; he decides he's quite fond of Holts. They're good people.

Head near the shaggy carpet, Pidge makes a victorious “ah ha!” and slings up into a sitting position with a _ouija board_ in hand of all things.

“Nope!” Lance stands abruptly, almost ramming his shins into the coffee table as he makes a clumsy beeline out of the living room. “We are not calling spirits, even if they’re real--”

“We’ve said it like eighteen times--” Pidge calls from the floor.

“Besides the point! I’m not here to play sleepover games--”

“The ghost attacked you.” Keith stares up at the retreating boy, expression indiscernible as Lance slows to look back at the trio (Now they’re a trio! Without him! The betrayal!). Hunk slides down next to Keith, but the latter doesn’t break eye contact. “We need _you_ to make contact with the ghost that attacked _you_.”

“ _You're_ the medium. Can't _you_ channel it or something? Mumble some hocus pocus and wave your fingers to have it talk to you. ” Boy, is Keith super needy today. Lance would smile if he weren't so annoyed. “Dial-A-Ghost or something.”

“No worries, Lance.” Pidge taps the board and smiles, glasses glinting, “There won't be any sleepover activities taking place here. We're gonna do it back at your place.”

“Well, have fun without me.” Lance crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “I'm not going.”

\---

“Do you have a spare light bulb?”

The three of them enter Lance's room, walking in carefully by the soft lights of their phones. Keith shuffles in the front, scanning the ground as Pidge and Hunk follow him in. The sharp scent of burnt electricity is mingling with the scent of cinnamon in a strange odor. Lance is out in the hallway, standing with his arms folded across from his open door and looking very upset to be existing in this particular timeline. He squints at their silhouettes.

“He dropped it around here somewhere.” Keith shuffles his feet forward, “Hopefully, it didn’t shatter.”

“Right here!” Hunk stands, light bulb delicately between two fingers. Pidge scuffles closer and peers at the bulb as if it might hold the secrets to the universe.

“It's not here anymore,” Keith supplies, unprompted. He doesn't mean to cut off the hunt so early, but there isn't a point in hunting around Lance's room when all his senses are pointed elsewhere. Isolated light flickers on as Hunk screws the bulb in and gingerly sets the desk lamp upright. Lance steps past the doorframe, cautious like a rabbit, and Keith feels a strange ripple in his head.

“Great. So what now? Besides that I get fined for burning the wall.”

“Can't you find it, Keith?”

Keith blinks up at Pidge from where his eyes had been fixated-- the strap of leather across his wrist.

“I, uh. I've never tried to do that before.”

Hunk looks thoughtful. Suddenly he's walking by Keith’s side down the stairwell with a beeping meter in hand and a flashlight at the ready in the other. They’ve agreed that Keith will try, with the aid of the radiation detector. Pidge and Lance amble lazily a couple steps behind them, snickering about Hunk ‘double fisting it.’ Keith presses his lips into a thin line, trying not to feel out of place. Then he’s wondering why he’s suddenly attempting to push against what has been his natural state for the past decade.

“Keith? C’mon.”

Hunk is a couple feet ahead of him, head turned back with a worried expression. The meter’s light is a summery lime green and blips up to a yellow when Lance trots down the last couple linoleum steps. Keith’s mind feels like it’s swimming in a vat of thick, musky cologne. He turns his head and eyes the double doors beside them with _MAINTENANCE ONLY_ written across the rust spotted paint.

“Keith,” Lance’s voice is warning. “Keith, don’t go in there. Think about what you’re doi--”

The bar lock bounces back with a shutter and Lance’s voice, along with Pidge and Hunk’s, turn into far away murmurs as Keith’s whole world becomes a hum of water heaters against cement floors. Pidge’s voice, nasally, urging, annoyed-- _come on, guys, it’s not a big deal--_ registers as he steps deeper into clammy darkness. The cloudy feeling in his head is getting stronger, his feet feeling drenched in _something._

“Keith!” Lance’s voice breaks through the buzzing feeling culminating in his skull. That drenched feeling, he realises, is actual water. A relief pipe above his head is dripping steadily, and probably has been for a while. A sound, the EMF reader, blares from near the entrance. Hunk hasn’t moved past the threshold of the entryway, stuck to his spot in terror.

“Keith, get out of there.” Lance pulls Keith out from the shallow puddle and blearily points his eyes up at the pipe. There’s two dents on either side, converging in one point-- like it was being crushed. Now, Lance feels something prickle up the column of his spine. Over the hissing of the boiler, he can hear Hunk fumbling to take the batteries out of the EMF meter and Pidge whisper-shouting something.

 _Something_ , but Lance can’t be sure because he’s feeling something burning and sharp up his sides and Keith has clear, piercing eyes as he starts dragging them both further into the cellar. _Something,_ he thinks. Lance recounts the shape of Pidge’s mouth in his mind as he and Keith crowd between two cold, metal tool shelves stacked to the ceiling and a humming barrel of tin that must be a water softener.

Not something. Someone.

“Someone’s coming,” Pidge had said before running out.

They sit in tense silence. Every clunk, hiss, and thud gets louder as the seconds drag by. Keith’s headspace starts to clear.

Deep voices carry from the stairwell. A crackle of a walkie talkie. Lance stiffens beside him.

“Yeah, the pipe’s completely busted.” Muffled speech. Grumbling. “Don’t know how it happened-- Seriously, it looks like the Hulk went in on this thing.”

Keith inhales sharply as the voice grows closer. His face is hovering inches from the back of Lance’s head. There are three things faint in this moment: the receding sound of footsteps, the accusing voice of the custodian as he interrogates Pidge and Hunk, and finally: a pleasant scent that unfurls in Keith’s head that must be Lance's cologne.

It feels like they stand there for hours, Lance restraining his breath to keep quiet. Keith, glancing over the slope of Lance’s shoulder, can see the flicker of light on the dribble of liquid coming from the pipe. The puddle, which trails further back into the cellar, wavers in width like an unsure brush stroke. Keith swallows thickly and hears the door shut.

“It’s here,” he whispers harshly into the back of Lance’s neck.

The voice Lance responds in is thick with anxiety. “I know. I--” He turns his head to Keith, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the darkness. His irises look black, pupils dilated and Keith feels he might be entranced if he looks any longer. “I think it tried to touch me again.”

“Does it hurt?”

“...No, I’m fine.” Softer. “I mean, I might cry, but I’m fine.”

Keith doesn’t know how to respond, so he squeezes past Lance to approach where the water is a thin, glistening sheet over the concrete. The surface ripples.

“Keith, be careful.”

Drip, drip, drip. Keith follows the water and feels his way along exposed brick. The boiler starts up with a shudder somewhere deep in the belly of the building. Quietly, Lance follows behind, worrying at his bottom lip. They continue like that until the snaking line of water comes to a stop. It pools over a thin crack in the cement that’s been smoothed over year after year, new layers added only for the water to ebb it open again.

Everything is suddenly very still. The air around Keith feels stagnant and cold, frozen with hesitation. Waiting for something but unable act.

Keith thinks he might be the last barrier standing between Lance and this thing; spirit, ghost, demon, what have you.

“Lance.” Keith turns his head, lets his eyes go up and down Lance's lanky frame and feels the pipeline’s rhythmic cry for attention battling the pulse in his ears. “You have to talk to it.”

“Wh-what?”

“It’s trying to use you as a-- like, as a medium.”

“You want me to let it possess me?!” Lance is as close to yelling as a person can get while whispering. “What the fresh hell, Keith, I’m not gonna--”

“Listen, if it could have possessed you, I get the feeling it already _would have._ Not to mention-” He lifts his chin towards the exit doors. The sliver of yellow light gleaming between the floor and the bottom of the door flickers as someone paces back and forth. “We don't have a lot of time.”

“Oh my God, Keith, we can just leave now, we don't have to--”

Something shudders above them in the pipes, causing the two the jump. The surface of the puddle ripples, then increases in intensity, as if someone was throwing a tantrum in the water.

The two fling themselves in opposite directions, a strangled yelp (source unconfirmed) accentuating their attempt to get away from the paranormal activity between them.

Keith takes a few steps back, eyeing the puddle as it continues to splash, sending droplets spraying in every direction. The ruckus seems to be targeting no one in particular. His eyes flicker from the water to Lance, the latter’s body pressed as far into the wall as possible, tense with his eyes blown wide.

He’s scared.

“You're not going to convince anyone if you act like this,” Keith’s voice is stern, expression stony. The splashing increases, as if it challenging him, retorting with a quick spray in his direction. The water hits his face, but he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he breathes out slowly, his gaze unwavering as he stares at the surface.

Just as suddenly as it started, the commotion halts. The pipes are silent. The occasional drip, drip, drop echoes faintly.

Keith motions at Lance to come closer as he wipes the water off his face. Swallowing thickly, he inches forward until they’re both a few steps away from the puddle on either side.

“Okay, now what?”

“You have to let the ghost possess--”

“No, no no no nope.” Immediately, Lance backs away, arms raised and head shaking, as if he were shaking off the spirit’s creeping tendrils (or whatever ghosts had. Tentacles? Fingers? Who knows.)

“Lance, you have t--”

“I’m not letting some evil Casper take over my body and,” he wiggles his fingers, spirit fingers if you will, “use me as a puppet. What if it doesn’t leave? What if it walks around campus in my body? That’s a dangerous power, could you imagine? My face, supernatural abilities--”

A quick splash to his shins elicits a shout of protest.

“If the spirit doesn’t release you immediately, I have ways to forcibly eject it. And besides,” Keith stares thoughtfully at the rippling surface, “Now that it has our attention, I don’t think it’s hostile anymore.”

Lance folds his arms across his chest, rubbing his forearms. His fingers brush the raised skin and he winces.

“...Are you sure?”

Keith nods, “I’m sure.”

Silence. It’s weighty and thick, swallowing sound. Each metallic clank, each drip, the voices from outside the door into a muffled buzz.

Inhaling deeply, Lance shuts his eyes, “Whenever you’re ready, buddy.” he feigns nonchalance, but deep down, like _real_ deep, oceans deep, he’s terrified.

A tingling sensation starts at the base of his neck. It’s not uncomfortable per se, but it’s unfamiliar--foreign-- as it seems to probe the entirety of his body.His head is starting to feel heavy, something thick filling in the spaces in his skull.

“Lance, are you okay?”

Opening his eyes slowly, he finds himself crouching in front of the puddle, whispers oozing in from the walls and into his brain.

_Please don’t--no one here._

_I need to h-- this is e--_

As his hand moves closer to the water, the whispers grow. Louder, faster, angrier.

_swear that-- it is f--_

_\--m here._

_Don’t k-- me._

There’s something at the bottom of the puddle. The ground is worn down mostly, dipping in the center like a bowl. A sliver of a crack in the concrete is visible.

He raises his arm towards it. The movements in his body aren’t his, but they feel natural, something compelling him to get closer.

_H-- me._

His palm rests on the surface of the water. The ripples pulse around his hand.

_I’m--_

Slowly, he places his hand on the floor, a fine sheet of water flooding over his knuckles until his palm presses into smooth and cold concrete. In an instant, the voices cease.

The whirring of the basement returns, as if the vortex of whispers and groans he was in never existed.

“Lance.”

Lance whips his head up and ends up face-to-face with Keith, his expression unreadable.

“Are you back?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he pulls his hand out and flicks the water off. “More or less, it’s the Lance Lê you know and love, Keithy Boy.”

Keithy Boy scowls, but it quickly morphs into a sort of exasperated smile. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I sleep perfectly fine with or without your approval, Mr. Park.” Flicking the rest of the water off, he rubs the excess moisture onto the thighs of his jeans. “Anyway, that was really--”

“What did the spirit want?”

“I don’t...I don’t really know.” Lane stares down at the puddle as he shoves his hands into his pockets, “I think it wanted me to know something. Something about that spot in the ground--”

A buzzing interrupts them. Lance digs around his back pocket and pulls out his phone.

He swipes. “Yeah hey. What’s up.”

“You guys good down there? What’s the sitch?” Pidge’s voice chirps out, “We got one hell of an earful from that maintenance guy. He thought we were the ones that broke a pipe or something, which in his defense, Hunk does look like he has the arms for it.”

“No, I totally agree,” Hunk chimes in from the background, “My muscles are a blessing and a curse.”

“Anyway,” Pidge continues, “The guy went away so I called to let you guys know that you’re in the clear to come out.”

“Your timing is impeccable, as always,” Lance looks at Keith, “We’re done, right?”

Keith shuts his eyes, then nods. “I don’t feel any energies from the immediate area or Lance.”

“Geiger Counter says we’re good. We’ll meet you guys out there.”

“Why can’t you just call me Keith--”

“Alright,” Pidge interrupts, “See you soon. Better spill the deets. We didn't even get to use the oujia! ”

The line hangs up and Lance exhales loudly. “I can’t wait to wake up.”

Keith raises a brow.  “You're already awake.”

Lance groans and starts to head to the exit, “Don’t remind me.”

As he turns to look back at Keith, Lance sees the light reflect off the surface of the water, winking farewell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update at long last! School has been rough. But, we have something. Kudos, comments appreciated!


End file.
